


Caught in the Middle

by doodlerTM



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Original Character(s)
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-07-05
Updated: 2019-07-05
Packaged: 2020-06-16 03:22:29
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 955
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19636837
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/doodlerTM/pseuds/doodlerTM
Summary: A not-quite angel comes to London with a terrifying vision, launching everyone into a new adventure.





	Caught in the Middle

“And five years post-haste of the apocalypse, one who is tied to neither realms will go to London.” - _The Further Nice and Accurate Prophecies of Agnes Nutter_

\---

Middle was having an apocalyptic vision in the breakroom of the Game Stop. This was not the first time he'd had such a vision, but it _was_ the first one he'd had that came with an irresistible urge: _Go._

“Dave?” Middle's manager placed a hand on his shoulder. 

For just a moment, Middle flickered like a bad television signal. His manager blinked, and before anyone could think too hard about it. Middle stood up. “I'm really really sorry, but I've got to go.” He grabbed his jacket and started to powerwalk out of the breakroom. 

His manager followed, her bows furrowed in concern. “Are you sick? What about your shift tomorrow?”

Breathing heavy, he turned around to face her. “I won't be coming back. Thanks for everything, I -” He stopped himself and went back to walking out the door. If he continued talking, he might start crying – that would just be no good. 

A few hours later, Middle was lying on the bed in his studio apartment. The bed was a formality, as he never slept, but it made Middle feel more human to have typical human things. 

He'd already made a few phone calls – one to his landlord, to pay six months rent in advance; another to hire a maid service to clean his room and throw everything away after he left. Middle could probably get rid of everything if he really wanted to, but he liked the idea of giving someone work and always tipped well.

He had even packed – only the most important things (his Nintendo 3DS, a few tarot decks, and a well-worn copy of _1000 Video Games to Play Before You Die_ ). Now all that was left was where he was to go. 

Middle grabbed a handful of darts from his night stand and looked at the map on the wall. He did this every few years, whenever he felt the itch of wanderlust. But he suspected that this time might be different. 

The dart whizzed before landing squarely on London. Just to be sure, he tried twice more.

London. 

London.

Middle got up to remove the darts. As he pulled them out of the wall, another vision flashed in his mind. Without a doubt, he knew exactly where to go. The question was what he was supposed to when he got there, but Middle was used to flying by the seat of his pants. 

This was, he tried reassuring himself, no special than any other time. 

Though of course, it wasn't.

\--- 

Aziraphale was enjoying his afternoon cocoa in the bookshop. Routine was important to him, and though Crowley had convinced him to try running the bookshop as a real business, he always closed for an hour in the afternoon so he could read. 

Today he was reading _The History of the Decline and Fall of the Roman Empire_ (first edition). Aziraphale was thinking of that one time he'd met Julius Caesar when he saw someone out of the corner of his eye.

“Excuse me,” he said, irritated at being interrupted, “we're _closed._ ”

“Oh, I apologize,” the person said, looking surprised at suddenly being in the bookshop. In fact, he had been so determined he had walked straight through the locked doors. 

Aziraphale paused. Something about this... individual... wearing the hoodie and strange pink shoes with holes in them felt off to him. “Wait,” he stammered, standing up. “Who are you, then?”

“Oh, it's just me. You must be Aziraphale, Guardian of the Eastern Gate. I'm Middle, by the way. I need to speak with you, it's important, I -” At that moment, Middle became overwhelmed. How could he possibly convey such an crucial and terrifying vision? He blacked out.

Aziraphale caught him and laid him on the floor. The person wasn't sleeping exactly – his eyes were open and he was breathing normally – just unresponsive. 

The angel was alarmed – and annoyed. Who exactly did think they were, appearing in his shop when the sign clearly indicated that he wasn't open for business?! He crouched to the stranger. “Wake up!” Aziraphale whispered. “I can't have a body in my shop. There would be questions!”

Getting nowhere fast, he walked to the door that led upstairs. “Crowley! Crowley, I need your help with something!”

Aziraphale could hear _The Golden Girls_ on the TV upstairs. Crowley kept his own apartment still, but he was often over at the bookstore, and Aziraphale was over at Crowley's. It suited both of them fine.

“I'm coming, I'm coming,” Crowley said, sprinting down the stairs. His eyes met the body on the floor. “Oh dear. Did you kill someone, angel?”

“Absolutely not!” Aziraphale was wringing his hands. “I'm not really sure _what's_ going on! He came in (and I _know_ I locked the door), said he had something important to say, and then collapsed. And,” he dropped his voice to a whisper, “he knew my name!”

He shook his head and paused before adding, “Crowley, do you know what he's wearing on his feet? They're an atrocity.”

Crowley laughed. “Oh those are Crocs. I came up with them, you know.” He peered down to take a closer look. “I do suppose they're kind of ugly, aren't they?”

Aziraphale rolled his eyes. “You've come up with the most ridiculous things. No matter. Let's get him upstairs.”

The angel snapped his fingers and all three of them were upstairs in Aziraphale's living room. The stranger was splayed on the couch. 

Crowley lifted Middle's dead-weighted arm and dropped it. “Well, if I didn't know any better, I'd say he could be one of us.”


End file.
